


Not a Good Day

by Vrunka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Power Imbalance, light slut shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: Jack Morrison has a really bad day and dealing with Jesse McCree can only make it...better?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cuminmyass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuminmyass/gifts).



> Commission for the wonderful and awesome cuminmyass. There's a second chapter of this coming up shortly too, so keep an eye out!! Thanks again for the commission as always!!

Part 1

Today was not a great day.

Jack practically throws his gear into the locker, stripping with an efficiency that borders on vicious. His training was a waste, he never should have even tried. The new recruits are dodgy at best, cannon-fodder at worst. He knows what he is signing them up for. He knows the statistics on how many of them won't make it.

Terrorist cells like Null Sector are cropping up every day.

And none of these kids are ready for it.

Jack steps into the shower. Turns the water to scalding, lets it prickle against his skin. Steaming where it hits the tiles. Sluicing over his back muscles, his stomach, his shoulders. He doesn't ache the way he should after a good work out, too tense from watching the soldiers who supposed to be under his command flail around for four hours.

He presses his hand to the tile.

Across the locker room a door opens. A door closes. Jack bites his lip in annoyance. He may not be the most private man in the world, but he was looking forward to the peace and quiet of the empty room. Just the echoing shower and his thoughts.

But footsteps belay that. The clinking of spurs.

Spurs.

Shit.

Jack turns in time to see McCree rounding the corner. Gabriel Reyes' new little star, more mouth on him than meat. Lanky limbs and untamed youth. He's blushing, already caught sight of Jack.

His crush is not subtle. Jack isn't sure McCree can do subtle. He doesn't think so with the way McCree's eyes linger over him, staring at Jack's ass through the spray. Tongue against his bottom lip.

"I was lookin' for you, Commander," McCree says. His eyes meet Jack's, brown and endless and dark. His pupils are pinpoints barely visible from this distance.

"And it couldn't wait?" Jack asks. He makes no move to cover himself, not in the mood for the game. McCree's stupid schoolboy crush. A daddy kink rolled up in some tragic backstory, Jack is sure. Reyes has implied so much at least.

McCree licks his lips again. "Not really. Wanted to see if you...wanted company? Was a rough session, huh, just caught the end of it."

"Company."

McCree grins. "Gentleman's way of saying I'll suck your cock, Commander, if you wanted."

Jack laughs, despite himself. It's surprised out of him. He turns to face McCree more fully and McCree's eyes drop immediately to his crotch. Not exactly Jack's intention, but he doesn't cover up. 

"You're bold," Jack says, "I'll give you that."

"Just that?" McCree steps closer. A hand on the waist-high tile partisan that separates the shower cubicles. His hand leaves a trail across the foggy surface. "You look real good like that, sir, all red-cheeked. Flushed. Thought so ever since I joined up."

"Joined up, that's one way to put it."

"Yeah, it is, ain't it?" McCree bites his lip. Without his trademark hat, it is easy to see how shaggy and unkempt his hair has become. He's attempting to grow a beard, Jack can trace the lines of it; McCree's sideburns just a little too long, a ratty little patch of hair on his chin. "How would you put it?"

"How about hauled in?" Jack says. "Seems more accurate, considering the handcuffs."

McCree shivers.

He actually shivers. His hand scrabbles against the tile. His shoulders shift. Jack's cock, uninterested mostly until this very moment, twitches. He can't tell if McCree notices or not.

"Christ," McCree drawls, low down in his throat. "Commander...I'd let you cuff me any day. Just--" He shuffles forward and Jack does not stop him. Water soaks into his uniform hoodie, his sweatpants. His hand--gloveless at least he took the time somewhat to prepare--scrubs over Jack's hip. Callouses, foreign, different places than Jack has them.

His face tilts, lips hovering over Jack's throat, right where his pulse is. Jack never realized how tall McCree was before, all skinny, knobby length. The bulky hoodie hangs from him, soaked, they are going to make a mess if they go back to Jack's quarters.

When they go back.

Jack guides McCree's hand to his cock, hold the fingers until they curl around him the way Jack likes, thumb pressing at the vein just below the head. Rocking against it.

"You have such a nice cock, Commander," McCree says. He sounds awestruck, Jack figures he should be flattered. It's not the first time he has heard it; even before the SEP he was nicely proportioned.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." McCree swallows. Dryness in his throat, a crackle, a scratch. His fingers tug loosely on Jack's cock, coaxing to full hardness. McCree's breath hisses from his nose, the sound is almost lost in the roar of the shower.

Jack swallows. Swallows again. The steamy air is too thick. It's making him lightheaded. He wants to be in control here. His hand drifts to McCree's wrist, the bones are thin and birdlike and delicate.

"Okay," he says. His thumb strokes McCree's trapped wrist, the hectic beat of McCree's pulse just below Jack's thumb. Or maybe it is Jack's pulse, throwing everything off. "So you offered, you gonna make good on it, kid?"

McCree's eyes flick from Jack's cock in his hand to Jack's lips to his eyes. Their gazes lock. Jesse drops to his knees. It's not graceful. It's not careful.

He presses forward before his is even fully settled. He drags his nose through Jack's pubes, mouths at the skin below Jack's belly button.

Thirsty for it.

So fucking eager.

His mouth is hot and wet, sucking at the head when Jack shifts his hands in McCree's hair. Tongue flat and thick, tracing the vein his thumb had so recently been fondling. Sloppy. Drool drips down Jack's shaft to get lost in the rivulets of water still running down him.

McCree moans when Jack thrusts. And he scratches at Jack's thighs but doesn't fight, his eyelashes flutter. He bears down until Jack is fucking against the back of his throat. The soft muscles at the back of his esophagus, gagging and choking around him.

McCree has done this before. That much is apparent. Jack is distantly thankful for it. He shifts to hold McCree's head one-handed, fingers cradling around the back of his skull, carding fingers through the wet tangle of his hair. His other hand he drops to McCree's cheek, thumb tugging at the lips wrapped so tightly around his cock.

Jack groans. Allows himself to indulge in silky softness for a moment longer. For two.

Then he tugs McCree off him.

His dick slips from McCree's mouth, the sight is obscene, wet and drool and slick sticking to McCree's plush, swollen lips.

McCree blinks, only strains a little against the hold in his hair. "I w-wasn't done," he complains, frowning. "You ain't hurtin' me. I--"

"I know," Jack says.

Jack reaches behind him and turns the shower off. The pipes creak and clank. McCree breathes. His eyes are wide. His hair is plastered to his head.

"I'm thinking though. That maybe you want something more. That maybe I do. Stressful, you're right, today was rough. There are better ways to work stress off.

"Dry yourself off if you're coming," Jack says.

Jack crosses to the locker and grabs his towel. He dries himself off with quick strokes. McCree is watching him, when Jack realizes, he drops the towel to wipe it over his cock. Makes a show of arching his back of groaning low over his lip.

McCree swallows. Staring.

He misses the towel when Jack tosses it at his head. It hits him in the shoulder.

"Dry off," Jack says again, grinning. "That's an order."

McCree grins too. "Yeah. I like when you order me around."

He would.

Jack rolls his eyes as McCree rubs the towel over his hair. As McCree rings the hoodie out with sharp twisting motions. Until he is no longer dripping.

At least somewhat more presentable.

He shuffles his feet.

"You sure you wanna do this?" Jack asks.

McCree blinks. Nods. "Yeah. Wasn't lying. I been trynna figure out how to get you to let me touch you since I saw you."

Flattering, if not a little sad. McCree is too sincere for it to be a lead. His puppy crush is just that, a crush. There is nothing malicious in him.

Jack pulls his own sweatpants over his hips. Takes the towel back to wrap it over his shoulders.

Less to strip when they get there.

"Come on then," he says. "If you're sure."

And McCree does.

Jack closes the door to his room. When he turns back, McCree has already stripped out of his clothes. They puddle on the floor, but at least he didn't drop them on the carpet.

He's all length. Jack never really thought about it before. McCree's cock--skinny like he is, long like he is--curls up into his mess of pubic hair. Uncircumcised, leaking, the foreskin already peeled back from the head.

"That just from sucking me off," Jack asks. He's removing his own pants as he does so. Running the towel down his chest one more time for good measure.

"Pretty much."

Jack considers him. He weighs the situation. McCree's crush and his own slightly cooled off annoyance. This could be very bad for their working relationship. Jack could get in a lot of trouble for this.

But fuck it.

At this point, Jack no longer cares. Irresponsible, yeah, definitely. But he wants to get off, and McCree is offering and that's good enough.

"I don't have any handcuffs in here," Jack says.

McCree's nose wrinkles. He licks his lips. "Unfortunate that."

"I got a belt though, if you--"

"Gonna spank me with it, sir? Tell me what a bad boy I've been?"

The idea has its merit. Jack actually pauses and turns it over in his mind before shaking his head. "No, not this time at least." Jack doesn't miss the way McCree's eyes flash at that, the promos of it. "Thinking I can tie you up with it, if you trust me to."

"Trust you with my life, I--," McCree trails off, blushing. "Reyes says I...that you'd just be usin' me."

Reyes. Overprotective. Always has been. It is what Jack loves about him, what Jack hates about him.

"He's not lying to you."

"Shit, I ain't dumb, I know that."

Jack walks to his dresser, he pulls out a belt, simple black leather. Sturdy silver buckle. "And you're sure about this?"

"How many times I gotta tell you 'yeah', Jack? I ain't gonna change my mind about it. I'm not trynna get you in trouble for fraternizing or nothin'."

"Reassuring," Jack says dryly. He snaps the belt between his hands. The leather cracks and McCree's cock visibly twitches with each sharp, clean sound. Precome leaking down the shaft.

Must be nice to be so young. So easily worked up.

They will definitely have to revisit the spanking thing. One day.

"Turn around," Jack says. Commander Morrison says. The shift in his tone and bearing is conscious thing. He was Commander Morrison a lot today, not that the recruits he was training seemed to respect it.

They were not all that much different than McCree in fact. Flippant. Abrasive. Military trained but full of themselves.

Jack ties McCree's hands behind his back maybe slightly tighter than necessary. McCree doesn't complain though. He arches, smooth. His hair tickles Jack's shoulder.

Jack licks his lips. Steps closer so that Jesse's head lays on him fully. His cock brushes McCree's crack, catches at the cleft. Leaks a little against the skin. Jack wraps a hand around McCree's throat. Squeezes lightly, feeling the Adam's apple quivering under his palm.

His other hand skates up McCree's chest. He could count the ribs if he wanted, the dagger sharpness of each one beneath his fingers.

But he doesn't want to count them.

He pushes McCree down onto the bed. McCree yelps as he goes, bounces on his knees on the mattress. With his hands tied behind him, he has no real way to catch himself; McCree's face drags against the sheets. His abs flex, his back arches.

"Commander," he says, gasps. Legs spreading.

Jack soothes his hand down McCree's back, shushes him. "I gotcha," he says. "I gotcha, kid."

He spreads his fingers in the dimples above McCree's ass. His thumbs trace the crack, teasing at the sensitive skin. McCree shudders, and moans, open-mouthed into the sheets.

Jack leans to rummage beneath the bed and comes up with lube. The bottle is half, empty; the cap is cracked, but it's still liquid, still good.

He places it on the bed where Jesse can see it.

"Gonna take longer for me to find a condom," he says. Apologetically. "I don't--"

"It's fine. We're tested every two months. 'Less you got somethin' I shoulda known about before suckin' your cock, I don't mind you barebackin' me."

Jack takes a breath, inhales sharply. He swipes his lube wet fingers between McCree's cheeks. As soft and warm as his mouth had been. Jack imagines it around his cock, so similar but so much more intimate.

He hooks a pointer in, McCree's body opens easily to him. Pliant. Practiced. And so, so tight.

"Co...mmand--"

"Jack."

McCree huffs. His shoulders strain. There is sweat between the blades, dripping down toward his neck. Jack slicks his free hand through it; pushes those sweat salt fingers into McCree's mouth.

McCree nips at them, grunting. His hips rut back against Jack's fingers so desperately that Jack adds another.

"Do this often," Jack asks, idly twisting his fingers. Adding more lube. "You're taking me so easy, like you're an expert."

McCree is blushing, Jack doesn't need to see his face to see it. The red splotches spreading down the back of his neck, the tops of his ears.

"You know what an expert at taking cock is called don't you?" Jack asks.

McCree's shoulders shake. He nods against the bed spread. Jack pinches his lip.

"Can't hear you, kid. You know what they're called?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what are they called?"

"Sluts, sir."

"You a slut, McCree?"

McCree whines, his muscles tremble. Jack adds a third finger, collects the lube that has leaked out and pushes it back in with a wet sound.

"You don't have to answer, I can already tell. So open for me."

"Fuck. Ja-Jack."

"Mmm," Jack hums. He spreads his fingers and fucks them deeper. "You ready for my cock?"

"Yes, Christ, I-I-I--"

Jack chuckles. He lines his dick up, lets the head catch on McCree's sloppy rim. He works it in, the slide is easy. Jack pulls McCree upright as he thrusts deeper, as his cock slips into the halfway point.

"Oh fuck," McCree is babbling. Jack places his chin over McCree's shoulder, both hands on McCree's hips. "Oh, Commander, Jack, oh my god." McCree's throat is working overtime, his pulse is flittering erratically against Jack's lips.

Jack thrusts, halting. Experienced doesn't mean loose; Jack still has to work for that last inch. His balls slap the tops of McCree's thighs. And he is in.

Jesse makes another series of noises, grunting deep in his chest. His hair is wet against Jack's shoulder; from his sweat, from the shower, impossible to tell. His fingers scrabble against Jack's abs.

The angle keeps Jack's cock frustratingly shallow. He can't rut the way his body demands with how McCree clings to his cock. So he changes it. He shoves (nothing gentle here, nothing careful or coddling) McCree down onto the bed. Holds him steady by the hips, not allowing his dick to slip free when McCree's torso bounces on the mattress.

And it's good, it's better. The angle is heaven, allows Jack the thrusts his body desires. Deep, bruising movements. Satisfying and strong. Jack makes each snap of his hips count, driving forward and forward relentlessly.

McCree takes it like he was born to.

He isn't babbling anymore. Every stroke has him moaning feebly, breath exploding from his lungs, in sharp, guttural exhales.

This is what Jack needed. And he hadn't even realized it. He shortens the angle of his hips again, really tries to make McCree feel the stretch of the cock within him, to give something back. He reaches under McCree's body; jerks his cock off with quick, efficient strokes.

Nominal effort and McCree is coming all over his hand, hips hunching against the mattress to rabbit fuck the fist around him. Eager and earnest and more than a little bit hot. McCree's desperation is infectious. The way his body tightens with his orgasm, shuddering and shaking beneath Jack, is too much.

Super soldier stamina or not, the sensations overwhelm. Jack finds himself entirely too close to coming himself. Staring down the brink of it. Skating the edge.

And then he is over.

His body tenses, hips pistoning forward, driving his cock as deep as it will go. Orgasm pulsing into McCree's core, like it will be absorbed if it is deep enough. Jack bites his lip. He shudders. He grunts.

Maybe he even says McCree's name.

It's impossible to know.

He is aware of little. Of base sensation. Of guiding his cock from McCree's wrecked hole, and undoing the belt from around McCree's wrists; of bracing himself on one arm to tip his weight to the side. McCree nuzzling up against him. McCree's lips moving.

Jack can't hear what he is saying. His ears are still roaring. He puts a hand over McCree's running mouth.

"In the morning," he says, sternly, "we can figure this all out. For now just...sleep? Okay?"

McCree's mouth opens beneath his hand and Jack squeezes it in warning.

"Nope. It's an order. Sleep, Jesse. Just...shut up and let's just...have this."

McCree licks his lips, his tongue brushes Jack's palm. He nods. Jack takes his hand away. And McCree does not say anything more.

In the morning, they can talk about next time--if there will be one, how there will be one--in the morning, there will be plenty of time to worry about all of that.


	2. Somehow Even Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2nd half of the commission!!

Part 2

Today is not a good day.

Jack leans against the wall. His hands are shaking. The cigarette, stolen from Reyes, trembles between his fingers.

The report is still running behind his eyes. Casualties: operatives, insurgents, civilians. Civilians. Years he's been at this and he is still not used to the sight of bodies dressed for vacation, carefree and suntanned and cast into a million pieces. Bloody chunks. A leg, ripped off at the thigh, bloody meat and glistening bone and a small girl's flowered sandal on the foot.

Jack opens his eyes. He stares up at the sky instead. The filter of the cigarette is tasteless between his lips. He bites the end to steady it, embarrassed by the way it jitters on his lip.

He stands there.

With it hanging from his mouth.

Like an idiot.

He doesn't have a lighter. He has never been a smoker. He hadn't even thought of that when he had held his palm out to Reyes. When Reyes had placed one in his palm. Wordless. No question between the two of them. The report, flitting across the screen.

Jack bangs his fist back against the wall so hard his knuckles crack. He hisses. The cigarette falls.

And a hand catches it.

Jack looks up.

He hadn't heard McCree coming. Unusual. The Blackwatch agent is not in uniform. Sneakers. It's looks wrong on him.

"Reyes told me where to find you," McCree says. "I came as soon as I'd heard what happened." He places the cigarette between his own lips, lights it and takes a drag before handing it to Jack.

The ember trembles.

Jack pretends not to notice. He takes the cigarette with a nod of thanks.

"When are we heading out?" McCree asks.

"What?"

"Overwatch. Blackwatch. We'll get those bastards, you know, Commander."

Jack swallows. He sucks a breath off the cigarette. The smoke burns down his throat, collecting in his chest. He doesn't cough, he blows it from his nose.

"We're not."

"Not?"

"It's not our...Blackwatch is supposed to stop this sort of shit before it happens. Well, it happened," Jack takes another shuddering breath. Chunks of gore and meat and pulp. It happened. It happened. "It fucking happened," Jack says. "I'm leaving to Amari's crew to clean up."

McCree's eyebrows crease. Confusion. Jack isn't quite used to the look, puppyish and concerned. McCree takes the cigarette from Jack's lip and takes another drag.

"If that's your orders, sir."

"Those are my orders, agent."

McCree frowns, looks away. He turns to lean his back against the wall as well, his elbow rubbing against Jack's. Its a pretty clear sign.

A request.

And Jack isn't in the mood.

But maybe he should. Maybe he can make himself be.

He rounds on McCree, hand flat on the wall by McCree's head. McCree's ridiculous hat. His scruffy beard. And his big eyes.

Jack wants to make it rough and hard and painful. He wants it to hurt. To tear and slice.

But when his lips meet McCree's, and god he barely has to tip his head anymore to kiss the kid, it's soft. And painful in a different agonizing way.

McCree hums. His hand slips around Jack's neck, fingers in Jack's hair. His mouth is pliant and sweet beneath Jack's; giving and giving and giving. Jesse's affections are a wellspring, Jack suddenly wants to run it dry.

"My quarters," Jack says, against McCree's cheek. That scrappy facial hair against his lips, dry and rasping, still too new to be soft and kept.

McCree grinds the cigarette out against the wall. He nods. "If that's your orders."

Jack doesn't want to make it this game. This forced, roleplay-non roleplay. He closes his eyes. "Yeah," he says. "Let's go."

\--

It's wrong.

It's bad.

It's off.

Jack curses, shifts his hand. Tugging at his cock. Blushing. Fuck, he can feel it down his neck and across his chest. The backs of his hands, burning.

"I'm...sorry," he says. Glaring down at his cock, only semi-hard lying across his palm. "I'm...this has never--"

McCree blinks. He's frowning. Jack half expected him to be smiling, or giggling, poking some sort of fun. Strike Commander can't get it up, ha ha. Jack bites his lip. He looks away.

McCree shakes his head. "No big deal," he says. His own cock is hard as anything. At attention, military straight, slapping against his belly.

All the times they've done this and Jack has never really stopped to appreciate Jesse's cock. Matches his ego. Overcompensation is truly not the case.

McCree scoots. Pats the mattress next to him. Jack gives his cock another impatient stroke, squeezing at the base.

An arm behind his eyes, a wedding band the fingers curled, the shards of femur poking through the meat. Jack shudders.

He lays down.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

"Really, 's not a big deal. You're..." McCree waves his hand. A slow circle. He's blushing now too. Just a little bit. "Want me to try to help?"

Jack thinks of Reyes' face in the blue of the monitor. The gore turned green by the tinting.

Jack licks his lips. Props himself further up the pillows, reclining.

"If you want," he says.

McCree does grin this time, self assured. "Gladly, Commander."

He rolls to lay across Jack's legs. Sweat trapped in the hair on his chest rubs and smears across Jack's knees. McCree's teeth scrape over his hip.

It feels good. Tingling the way arousal always does. But his cock is still willfully soft. Even when McCree touches it, teases a finger along it, it produces only the weakest of twitches. A swooping in Jack's gut. Familiar and just not quite enough to squash the images of the ones who didn't die immediately.

A child, belly ripped open, guts and spine and unending madness, blinking. Staring up at the ceiling. Blinking. Alive. Dying. Experiencing this cruelty.

Jack covers his eyes with his hands.

McCree's mouth encircles him. Talented tongue flexing against the head. Slipping against the slit.

Jack moans.

He isn't sure if it's the feeling or the pictures behind his eyes or what.

McCree takes him into his throat, angling his head so Jack's mostly soft cock slides into his airway. Jesse's fingers tight at the base.

His other hand caresses Jack's thigh. Pinching the skin. Sliding higher. Drool dribbles from McCree's open mouth, dripping down Jack's ass. McCree's free hand swipes through the mess, gathering it, smearing it between Jack's cheeks.

Jesse's eyes are locked on his. He lifts his chin and Jack's cock curls free.

"Can I?"

Jack should say no. What good will it do him?

"I'll make you feel so good, Jack. I...you don't have to overthink this."

Overthinking is Jack's forte. Next to missing the obvious signs of a bomb plant in high end resort.

McCree's finger presses in. Slicked by spit it isn't good enough. Not moist enough. Not wet enough. It kind of hurts. Jack tenses and McCree kisses his belly.

"No," he says. "No, no, no. Relax. You gotta relax for me."

Jack huffs a breath through his nose. His legs move, he frees them from under McCree's bulk. One on either side of McCree's torso. It's embarrassing. Jack cannot meet McCree's gaze.

He stares at his own cock. The red, soft length of it.

McCree's finger presses in again and Jack doesn't bear down against the intrusion. He doesn't tighten or stiffen. He breathes out through his mouth and tries to remain pliant.

"That's it," McCree says. Leaning down to kiss through Jack's pubes again, from his belly button down to his thighs. His breath is hot against Jack's skin. His fingers twist; a second slips knuckle deep. Jack shudders. He hooks a leg over McCree's shoulder to pull him closer.

His lips scour Jack's balls, sucking each one into his mouth to cradle them with his tongue. Warm, wet. Jack's hand finds his hair. Encouraging.

Jack lets himself skate the feeling. Focusing on the stretch and burn of Jesse's two fingers inside of him. The slight discomfort. A deep seated ache that matches that deep, unfathomable distress.

Those people died. And Jack could have stopped it. But he didn't. And there is nothing to it now.

McCree makes a noise, his arm slides beneath Jack's hips and suddenly Jack is further down in the pillows, back arching as Jesse slips tongue in along with his fingers.

It doesn't get as deep but the sensation is shocking. Jack grunts, his foot scrapes against McCree's shoulder blades.

His cock twitches again. Gravity has it flopped against Jack's stomach.

McCree fingers move with more purpose as he tongues around the rim of Jack's ass. Probing, curling, rubbing. He fucks them right up against Jack's prostate. Fluttering, pulsing, flicking.

Jack groans, his hips cant, caught in McCree's grip though there is nowhere to go. He cannot escape the sudden blinding assault of pleasure. The grueling wave of it. Stars behind his eyes instead of bodies.

McCree thrusts his tongue in, again and again. And Jack is losing his mind. Grunting and swearing, his body tensing but this time in pleasure, like he can hold it off. Stave it.

His fingers tear at McCree's hair, at the sheets.

One encircles his own cock, jerks it messily as it hardens and drips and leaks. Come on his chin, streaking down his stomach and his bunched abs.

McCree eats him out.

And Jack is powerless against it.

As powerless as earlier, only it's so much better now. Letting control slip away from him. Not hung up on it. Not thinking about it.

McCree's fingers aren't even pulling out any more. Just pure, uninterrupted stimulation, quick jerking motions with his fingertips.

"I gotcha," he says into Jack's thigh, spittle in his beard, wet against the sweaty skin. "Jack you're so good. Can--Jack. I wanna--"

McCree's fingers leaving bruises on Jack's hip. Digging in.

"Will you come for me, Commander? I wanna see it. I want you to say my name as you do."

Jack tips his head back, throat extending, Adam's apple bobbing. "Jesse," he says. "Oh, god, Jesse, Jesse."

Jesse grins.

Jack can feel it.

Come drools out of Jack's dick. He sees white. Then green, then red. But the red doesn't hurt the way it should. And the memory of the bodies doesn't hurt the way it had.

Jack shudders. Coming. It splashes across his pecs, the bottom of his chin, the soft palette below his jaw.

And McCree, the whole time, works him through it. Coaxes and teases another flickering spasm of pleasure from that overworked bundle of nerves.

Until Jack can't anymore. Wrung out. Wrecked. He pushes at McCree's head, fingers tangled in his sweaty hair. Groaning. Voice and throat raw from his shouting.

"You okay, Jack?" McCree asks.

Jack takes a breath. Inhales. Deeply. It isn't a good day. It's a terrible day.

It's the worst.

But--

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'll be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come check out my tumblr and see what commissions I'm working on next!
> 
> https://vrunkawrites.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Hey come check out what I'm doing at my writing blog: https://vrunkawrites.tumblr.com


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